


Loss

by AzzureThunder



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, Sad Tuukka, self-hate, tantrums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzzureThunder/pseuds/AzzureThunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tuukka is upset after a loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loss

Stupid. So fucking stupid. Tuukka couldn't believe it. How could he have let in All those goals? Oh god and the shoot out . . . He was disgusted with himself when He hit the boards, embrassed when he fell. He could feel his cheeks burn with shame and humiliation. He could feel all of his team and the other teams, and all the fucking fans that he let down's, eyes on him. He could already hear the laughter.

Tuukka was grateful they let him go down the tunnel first, but that damn voice in the back of his head was chanting that they were laughing at him, pissed at him for losing, that they were fed up with his goddamn tantrums. Useless. This wouldn't be happening if Tim was here . . . He was always second best.

He hurried away from the rest of the team after he got most of his padding and skates off and hid in the equipment room, slamming the door behind him. He could hear the murmurs of his teammates and only hated himself more. He didn't want to hear them, he didn't want to hear the voices in his own head. He knew he fucked up. He knew it could only have been his fault.

The chair was his first victim, as he took it and smashed it into the wall, once, twice, three times until it shattered. He fell into the wall and his hand and shoulder stung, but it only made him angrier. He flipped a table with sticks on it, and then took a few of those sticks and smashed them on the walls to. He threw boxes of stuff around, tearing the room apart.

His legs gave out soon, and he laid there on his back, hands fisted and pushing into his eye sockets. He let out a chocked sob and curled himself into a ball. Why? Why couldn't he be better? Why couldn't he have won? He was pathetic, useless, a liability to the team. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

His hands stung, raw and red. His legs were shaking with stress and pressure. His chest ached, tight and cracking with each breathe. It was hard to breathe, it was hard to find the energy to even sit up. His ears picked up a soft knock, Z's voice calling to him. Asking is he was done, if he wanted to come out now, that most of the team was gone.

He didn't mean to, but his actions couldn't be trusted in his state. That's what Z told himself anyway when a piece of furniture smashed against the door, and Tuukka let out a loud angry, distressed wail of Finnish. Z didn't want to, neither did Dobby, or Patrice, the only ones who stayed behind to see if he was alright, but they left. After an hour of trying to cox him out, they gave up and left.

Tuukka stayed tight against the door, biting on his arm so they couldn't hear him sob and scream his frustration. He waited until he heard them leave, waited even longer to make sure they didn't come back, before he let himself out. He could barely walk to the shower, leaning against the wall and crawling at points, only fitting for how low he felt.

He let the hot water wash away the stiffness, the bruises, the blood on his skin and sat under the spray form a long time. Finally he dragged himself out and got dressed, and tidied up the equipment room the best he could with how tired he was. Falling over himself until he sat on the curb outside, hand in hands. He couldn't drive home like this.

He swallowed his self-hate for his weakness and called Z, who instantly came to pick him up, and against his requests took him to his house. The captain said his wife and child weren't even home and he set Tuukka up on the coach, and tried to get him to eat, to drink, something.

But the Finn just took the blanket he was given gratefully and wrapped up, turning away from the helping hand. The captain left him alone, but not without the slightly louder, harder, angrier footsteps that went away. Tuukka closed his eyes tight and let the tears fall again, promising, vowing to be better the next game.

Just like he always did.


End file.
